


Broken Circles

by TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autumn, Carnival, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Domestic, Ferris Wheels, M/M, Meddling Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 22:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: The tension between Dean and Cas is ever-present since Mary's death. It will take a new vantage point for the two to communicate and work out their differences. Maybe something like... being stuck on a Ferris Wheel together?





	Broken Circles

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn’t strictly follow what happened in the s14 finale with Chuck killing Jack. It’s more like what happened if Chuck hadn’t even shown up. Dean didn’t shoot Jack but he feels guilty.

The ad in the newspaper is autumnally festive with garlands of pumpkin vines curling around the short text, and yet Dean can’t help but think that the promoted event sounds like a stoner’s wet dream: Autumn Daze. 

The rest of the black-and-white printed news is pumpkin sales and gutter cleaning advertisements, devoid of anything worth his time and attention. Dean snaps it closed and folds it, leaving the paper for Sam to peruse later. 

_ Great, _ he thinks to himself as he gets up from the table. _ Now what am I supposed to do with my Saturday? _

There’s no hunt, Baby has one coat of wax too many, and going through the Bunker archives isn’t his idea of a relaxing, good time. 

“Hey, Dean,” Jack greets brightly, entering the kitchen when Dean is halfway through pouring himself a second cup of coffee that he doesn’t really need. 

“Mornin’. Want some pancakes? Eggs? A friggin’ frittata,” Dean offers. Cooking kills time and he mostly enjoys it. It’s something to do, at least, and he owes Jack that much. 

Actually, he owes him a helluva lot more and will probably keep fighting to earn the boy’s trust until the day he kicks the bucket. 

Jack grins and sits very typically angel-like—all stiff-backed—at the table. He still hasn't managed to to adopt the signature Dean Winchester slouch even though he’s tried imitating Dean from the get-go. 

“Pancakes would be great. Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem, kid.” 

While Dean gets out flour and eggs, he’s not surprised to hear the rustling of the paper as Jack picks it up. The kid is a sponge, always got his nose buried in a book or immersed in some online article. 

“Comics are good today,” Dean says while rifling through a drawer for a wire whisk. He finds it shoved in the back behind the can opener and wrestles it out. 

“Okay.”

He smiles fondly when he hears Jack laughing under his breath to himself while he reads and in a sudden fit of feeling good—really, really good—Dean fwicks on the radio and taps his toe to a quick beat. 

Even though he’s already read them, Dean laughs at all the right moments when Jack finds a joke that tickles his funny bone enough to read aloud. 

The kitchen becomes warm and butter-scented and something out of a goddamn Norman Rockwell, some good ol’ illusion of a father and a son enjoying an early Saturday morning. 

Except he’s not a father and Jack isn’t his son. 

“Hey, Cas,” Jack says out of the blue after a long pause in which Dean had become introspective and focused on watching bubbles form on the rounded mounds of batter on his griddle, flipping pancakes before the bottoms could burn. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean lifts his spatula in a half-hearted salute and Cas gives a slight nod in acknowledgment before joining Jack. It's about as good an interaction as Dean gets these days.

They’ve kinda, sorta, _ maybe _ been avoiding one another ever since the whole, _ ‘Michael possession thing’ _ . Oh, and the whole ‘_You got my mom killed thing’ _. 

Did he also mention the, ‘_I was gonna shoot Jack thing’ _? No? No biggie. 

They’ve both been in the wrong so they’ve been civil, in this silent war over the balance of who has done the most—or the worst—shit. It’s kinda evened out, hence the tension and the brooding silences between them. 

“Look at this,” Jack is saying as Dean finishes flipping the last pancake but he knows Jack isn't talking to him. “Autumn Daze. And it’s today. What is that? Can we go?”

“Let me see,” Cas says. 

He keeps his back turned but Dean can imagine how Jack pushes the paper across the table toward Cas and exactly how Cas tilts his head as he reads the small, ambiguous ad. 

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you ask Dean?”

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, pitting Jack as the middleman. 

Plastering a smile on his face, Dean gathers up the heaping plate of food, a plate and fork, and drops everything onto the middle of the table. Neither of the celestial beings so much as blink or startle but Dean does get a glare from the one and a delighted grin from the other for his efforts. 

He remains standing since Cas is on the one side and Jack is hogging the other bench. 

“Can we go?” Jack forks a few pancakes onto his plate. “It sounds like fun and you’re always telling me to try to have fun.”

“I dunno, Jack. Don’t even know what it is or if it’s appropriate for a one-year-old,” he jokes. 

Cas leans forward. “Ignore him. I’ll take you. Eat your breakfast and meet me in the library.” Cas makes like he’s going to get up and leave but there's no way in hell Dean is letting this one go when it's an obvious anti-Dean jab. 

“Hold on. Wait just a minute.” Dean holds up a hand. “I didn’t say no. I said I didn’t know. _ I’ll _ take him.”

For the first time in what feels like months, but has probably only been days, Dean looks right into Cas’ eyes and issues a silent challenge. 

Of course, Cas is annoyingly unruffled and stares back calmly, enunciating every word in a low tone, “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do I really need to write it all out?” Cas cocks his head and narrows his eyes. 

No, he doesn’t. Dean is very aware that he’s got stuff to make up to the kid. He’s got wrongs he has to right, and yet here’s the ever-forgivable Jack letting Dean make him pancakes while laughing over Saturday morning comics together. And now the kid is asking _ Dean _ to spend the day with him. 

And, not for nothing, but Dean is flustered enough by the direct communication that he doesn’t even correct Cas on using the phrase ‘spell it all out’ incorrectly. 

“Why don’t we all go?” Jack suggests cheerfully, ignorant to the storm brewing before his very eyes. 

“Go where?” 

Behind them, Sam is entering the kitchen with what is probably an empty coffee mug. 

“We don’t know but you’re welcome to come,” Jack says. He shoves a huge bite of pancakes into his mouth without syrup because Dean forgot to grab the bottle like a distracted idiot and Jack is either too considerate to point it out or too naive to realize that it's sacrilege to eat pancakes plain. 

“Okay?” Sam grabs the coffee pot and pours himself the remainig dark liquid, chuckling in amusement. 

He joins the other three men at the table and of course now is when Jack scoots over to make room. 

“Well, then, let’s do this, whatever it is.” Sam settles into his seat and cups his gigantic hands around his mug and elbows Jack good-naturedly. “I’ve been thinking that we’re overdue for a family outing.”

+++

Autumn Daze turns out to be less _ ‘Grateful Dead at Woodstock _ ’ and more _ ‘Hillbilly Joe Plays the Banjo in Small Town, Kansas _’. 

There are craft booths galore filled with brown wicker baskets, homemade candles, and tons of cat-themed kotsches. There are also inflatable bouncy houses, a few smallish carnival rides, ponies and a petting zoo full of goats. 

And there’s The Ring of Death. 

Dean glares up at it and its swinging chairs causing sweat to trickle down his neck and down the back of his shirt. Summer seems to have forgotten that her turn is over, blasting them with the heat of a thousand suns. Or so it feels. 

Remind him again why he wears so many goddamn layers?!

“Come on, guys,” Jack hollers over the twangy country music that a live band is playing over the raucous noise of screeching towns children. “There's still some spots.”

Dean looks back down from his stare-off with the Ferris Wheel and realizes that he’s being left behind. Jack is gunning it toward the thing, pulling Sam along with him by the sleeve of his jacket. Behind those two, Cas follows at a more leisurely gait. 

Reluctantly, Dean goes after them but then he decides to hell with being the wet blanket of this outting so he passes Cas, making a beeline to be the first one there to see Jack get on the crazy ride. If he's gotta be here then he's not gonna be the party pooper. Not that that means he'll ride but he can be a supportive cheerleader. Go team.

The ride is enclosed by a small, pitiful fence that looks like a slight breeze could blow it over. He stops at the little gate that no one is lined up at, Jack and Sam having already moved through it. They get situated and then the ride slowly glides backward until the next empty bench is reachable from the platform, ready for the next pair of willing participants. 

The ride operator unlatches the pointless gate and waves Dean through. 

“Oh, heck no, I’m just waiting for someone,” Dean tells him. 

“Then I need to ask you to step aside,” the operator says blandly, a phrase he’s likely repeated dozens of times. 

There's no one to step aside for but before Dean can make a snarky comment, there's a loud, “Bok, bok, bok,” coming from up above them. 

He shields his eyes and looks up to find Sam laughing merrily and Jack grinning. 

“Cute. You teach him that?” Dean calls and Sam shrugs, the shit-eating grin on his face answer enough. 

“Staying or going? The line is growing, man.”

Sure enough, there's a presence at his backside but he doesn't need to turn around to know that it's Cas who has finally caught up to him. The same Cas he's still trying to one-up or prove something about or... he doesn't even know anymore.   
  
Whatever the motivation, he can do this. It’s a small, little fair so it’s just a small, little ride. It’s not even _ that _ high up. 

Dean climbs up to the platform on heavy legs and eyes the too-narrow bench critically. 

“Are you going to sit sometime today?” Cas asks gruffly. 

“What’re you doing?” Dean asks. Cas has apparently continued to follow him and is standing several inches too close. “This one's mine. Get your own.”

“That’s not how it works. They require two to a seat.”

“Seriously, man, make a choice,” the ride operator whines. “On or off. We gotta get this moving.”

More chicken noises and giggling come from Sam and Jack. Grumbling, Dean sits down and immediately regrets it. The damn thing _ sways _ and it isn’t even in the air yet. Worse is that it jerks roughly when Cas turns around and practically sits in his lap. There’s some wiggling to try to make enough room but they’re pretty much squished. 

“We’re too big to fit together,” Dean complains, his knee digging into Cas’, a bottom corner of the trenchcoat flipped over onto his leg. 

Before he can hightail it outta there, the ride jerks sharply again followed by a lightness that makes his head feel dizzy. They’re _ moving_. They’re moving backward and becoming airborne. Mayday, mayday.

“Calm down,” Cas says, lowering some useless safety bar down that the dumb operator didn’t even bother to mention. How can Dean trust the pimple-faced jerk now? “You’re only about six feet off the ground.”

“That’s six feet too many,” Dean hisses through his clenched teeth. He’s gripping the dumb bar, which is not even effectively holding them onto the seat, they’re rocking back and forth, and it's all way too unstable. 

Other people must have gotten in line in the time it took for Dean and Cas to get seated but they are quicker to load up--he's not gonna look to find out--because the ride jerks again and up they go a single spot. Dean grapples to hold onto something else but he’s got a wall of muscled body pressed along his right side and rickety, rusty metal elsewhere. 

And dangling. His feet are dangling, there’s nothing beneath them. Dean chances looking over the bar to see how far up they are now. Oh god. They’re tilting too far forward and Dean is gonna slip out and fall and crash. 

“Sit back,” Cas orders, looking away and off to the distance. He’s unfazed and unafraid. Normally, Dean would find solace in that sort of indifference and detachment but he’s too worked up about—

Yup, there they go. Up again. His stomach rolls right along with it. Unlike the other few times they've stopped-and-started, the ride keeps going until Cas and Dean are at the tip-top. And then for some stupid reason it just stops there instead of going over and back down. 

Which means that there’s nothing above them but open sky. While everyone else is enjoying the reckless feeling of being high in the air, Dean screws his eyes shut and grimaces. 

Below them, some asshole--probably his own brother--starts swinging his seat so hard that other riders shriek in some misguided fear-induced delight, the shudders reverberating clear up the ride and making them tilt back and forth. 

It’s so unexpected that Dean startles violently and grabs the only solid thing in his vicinity: Cas’ arm. His one solace in this embarrassing predicament is that at the least, he didn't scream like a terrified little girl.

“You’re fine,” Cas says. His tone isn’t condescending but it isn’t reassuring either. It’s barely tolerant. 

“You won’t be saying that when I go splat and my blood and guts decorate concrete. Or I get impaled by some tetanus-infested metal rod down there.”

“Dean,” Cas admonishes quietly. "There isn't a tetanus-infested metal rod down there."

Beneath his death grip, Dean feels the subtle ripple of Cas’ muscles like Cas is preparing to take his arm—Dean’s current lifeline at the moment—away. Naturally, Dean digs in tighter, trying to ignore the sway of the ride as it begins moving again. 

“It won’t be as bad if you open your eyes.”

“Nope. No thanks.”

“You should look. The scenery is beautiful.”

“I’ve seen scenery before. I’m good.”

“Then… I’ll describe it.”

Dean swears Cas leans into him a little, getting as close as he can so that he can talk in a softer, soothing voice. 

“There is woodland straight ahead of us in the distance. The trees are still full of leaves which are only just beginning to turn. Many on the undersides are still green but the ones on top are glittering like gold in the sunlight.”

As Cas continues to talk in his hushed, dusky voice, Dean minutely relaxes. The ride has rhythm now that it is moving without stopping, the gentle swinging more consoling than terrifying. 

He forgets about death and disagreements, about angels and demons, about his kid brother and pseudo kid with a literal front row seat viewing of his panic attack. 

After a small pause, when Dean has finally let go of his fear and is enjoying the breeze blowing over his flushed cheeks, Cas’ arm goes rigid with tension. Something is coming and Dean is expecting the ride to plummet or a murder of crows to attack so he's completely unprepared when all that comes next are three little words. 

“I miss you.”

Leave it to Cas to simply state how he feels and what he thinks. Dean exhales slowly and cracks an eye open. He has to squint a little in the sun but he can mostly make out Cas’ frown and sad eyes beyond the dark spots in his vision. 

Damn his puppy eyes. 

“Things happened,” Dean starts and stops. They could go in circles about it forever. An endless loop of what he did, what Cas did, what neither of them did when they should’ve done. Choices made at every turn, each creating a ripple that melted one into the next until they were left with one big mess, hardly able to distinguish anymore on who truly started what. 

And it’s not like the consequences of any of their actions were foreseeable. Can he really hold Cas accountable for his mom’s death? For someone else’s choice, including hers? Can he even blame Jack when he himself drove Jack to that edge from day one, doing such things as trying to bury the kid alive, all while not listening to his own gut or a friggin’ prophet when things got weird? Bottom line is they're all to blame for some part.

Cas’ reply is resigned. “I know.”

“I made mistakes. A lot of ‘em lately.”

Cas shakes his head a little. “We all have and I don’t expect forgiveness for my parts in it. I just wanted you to know that I don’t enjoy the discord between us.”

Dean huffs. “Who does? Not like I wanna be mad all the time.” He doesn’t know how they’ll move on or regain trust with one another but maybe today can be a start. “So, uh, truce?”

A warm hand settles over his where he’s still clinging to Cas’ arm. “Truce."  
  
It should be awkward when Cas leaves his hand there but instead it feels right. The world and the ride keep spinning but whatever was keeping them in their hamster wheel of resentment has finally broken. They can move forward. They always do.  
  
They still have a lot to talk about later but Dean would feel better about hashing the rest of it out on terra firma. So he sits back, smiling softly at Cas, and enjoys the ride for once.   
  
And if Dean sees Sam and Jack smirking and fist-bumping later when Dean and Cas untangle themselves from their bench in a fluster, Dean pretends he doesn't notice. 

**Author's Note:**

> My friends! It has been a long while. Life has been busy, as it tends to be. I'm a mom to seven kiddos, the youngest being a couple of months old, so squeezing in the time to write has been a challenge. 
> 
> As life settles into a routine again--after an exhausting pregnancy that felt like it lasted an eternity (lol)--I hope to get back into the swing of putting out more complex stories again.


End file.
